It's So Romantic
by the ramblin rose
Summary: Michandrea, AU. Oneshot. Sometimes the smallest things are the most important in a relationship.


**AN: So this is just a cute little one shot that was written per someone's special request. The request was very specific, so I hope I've captured everything here that they wanted.**

 **I own nothing from the Walking Dead.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Andrea bit her lip against the pain and moved her leg a little to try to find some relief. She wasn't going to find it, though, and she was beginning to doubt that she'd ever move again without pain. A stupid mistake had left her with the knee injury that should have been healed by now. If she weren't so clumsy, it never would have happened. If she weren't so clumsy, she wouldn't have made it worse by stumbling and falling at the airport. Now the prolonged amount of time sitting on the plane wasn't helping matters.

It didn't matter. She'd have plenty of time to stretch her knee out when she got back to Atlanta. She'd have more than enough time to stretch it out while she was fighting for her bags, dragging them through the airport, and trying to hobble her way through the crowds to catch a cab.

Michonne was supposed to pick her up. She'd known Andrea was returning from the convention since she'd left. It wasn't a surprise. It wasn't like it was something that Andrea had just dropped on her.

But that's how it was with Michonne. Her work always came first. Her work was always more important than Andrea. And, really, Andrea didn't mind. She understood, for the most part. That's how their relationship worked. Andrea worked in investing for a business—a job that kept her travelling a good bit of the year—and Michonne was a lawyer. They'd agreed never to let their relationship stand in the way of their careers since their careers were very important to the both of them.

Andrea had just never imagined that might mean that her partner was _never_ able to do anything for her, even when what she required was something as minor as coming to pick her up at the airport after a truly disappointing business trip.

Andrea knew, really, that it wasn't things with Michonne that had her down. The real reason she was feeling upset was because she'd found nothing during the whole convention that would make her bosses happy. They were looking for an investment—a specific kind of investment—and she'd gone scouting for them. They wanted a product that was useful to everyday people but was _original_. They wanted to take a chance, honestly, and they wanted something exciting. Nothing that anyone had to show her at the convention had been exciting at all. It hadn't even been interesting.

She was going to have to go back to Atlanta and let them know that she'd come up dry. She had no leads. She'd simply have to keep looking.

Her disappointment, compounded by the nausea inducing pain in her knee, was making her cranky and ill-tempered. Michonne's texted apology that she wouldn't be able to pick her up was just the shit icing on the bad-fucking-day cake.

Andrea closed her eyes and tried to sleep, hoping to at least catch a thirty minute or hour nap during the duration of the whole flight, but she couldn't ignore the pain her knee. There was no way to sleep with it throbbing like it was and there was nowhere to move it to get any relief. Even sitting in the aisle, and being rude enough to stretch her leg out some, wasn't helping.

Finally, Andrea stood up from her seat and opened the overhead compartment. She hated taking pain medication for the way that it made her feel, but desperate times called for desperate measures. She unzipped the side pouch of her bag and burrowed through it blindly, above her head, in search of the pill bottle that she'd been carrying around. Finding it, she palmed one of the pills, returned the bottle to the bag, and closed the overhead compartment. Rather than flag down a stewardess and inconvenience the woman for something like a sip of water, Andrea decided to hobble to the bathroom and steal a quick drink from the tap. It wouldn't kill her and, while she was in there, she could relieve herself and save herself the inevitable trip to the bathroom that she'd have to make as soon as she got comfortable again.

Hobbling down the aisle and cursing the pain in her knee, Andrea tried to distract herself by studying the other travelers. Most of them were trying to sleep and some were glued to their electronic devices. It was the same on every flight she'd ever been on and she'd been on a number of flights before.

She stopped, though, when she saw something that she'd never seen before.

One woman was sleeping with a travel pillow that was quite unlike any pillow that Andrea had ever seen before. This pillow came with something like a stand. It rested on the woman's legs and folded upward. Then, like a massage chair, it cradled her face.

Andrea toyed with waking the woman to ask about the pillow, but she finally decided against it and finished her trek to the bathroom. She waited patiently while the person who occupied the little space finished what they had to do and then she took her turn. In the bathroom she swallowed down the pill with just enough water to get it down and then she used the bathroom. While she was washing her hands, she examined herself in the mirror.

Maybe it was for the best that Michonne wasn't coming to pick her up. Her time spent travelling and the toll that the knee pain was taking on her didn't exactly make Andrea look like the picture of anything that anyone would be waiting anxiously to see.

She shook her head at her own reflection and left the bathroom, calculating that there were at least two more hours to go before they could count on touching down in Atlanta. She offered a smile to the woman who was waiting to replace her in the bathroom and started her trip back to her seat. On her way, Andrea glanced back in the direction of the woman who had the travel pillow and noticed that the woman was awake and her pillow, it seemed, was gone.

Andrea stopped by the woman's row and apologized to the man sitting in the aisle seat before she leaned across him and tapped the woman on the shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Andrea said. "You don't know me but—I was just noticing your pillow when I walked by earlier."

The woman smiled at her.

"Hi," the woman said. "Yes—I've had a few people ask about it."

"Where did you get it?" Andrea asked.

"My brother owns a small business," the woman said. "He makes them. He's been trying to get it off the ground for a while."

Andrea's interests were piqued to say the least.

"Your brother sells them?" Andrea asked.

The woman nodded.

"Yes," she said. "He has a small business outside of Raleigh."

"Does he market them nationally?" Andrea asked.

The woman seemed to think that was funny. She laughed at it and shook her head.

"No," she said. "Nothing like that. Mostly it's just been to—well, to family and friends. A few people in town. He hasn't really gotten the business of the ground yet."

"Do you think he might be looking to expand?" Andrea asked. The woman looked concerned and Andrea put a smile on to try to relieve the woman's worries about her perceived over-interest. "I work for a company that-well, they're a company that invests in small businesses. They help them get going. They help them grow. We're just—looking at some new investment possibilities and I thought—it's a very interesting concept. It's the kind of thing they'd be interested in learning more about. Maybe they'd even like to talk to your brother about his product and the future of his company."

"Oh!" The woman said, looking genuinely surprised. "Oh...well, I can't speak for him. But—I could give you his number. Right now he's running the business out of his home so—he only has the one number."

"That would be perfect," Andrea said. "I could give him a call and talk to him about it and then, if he wants to move forward? I could set up a meeting."

The woman scrambled around and finally found something to write on and a pen. By the time Andrea hobbled back to her seat, she was carrying an unused airsick bag with the man's name and phone number, along with the name that he'd given his small business. It wasn't quite as professional, perhaps, as some of the presentations that had been made to her at the convention, but it was a product that got her attention in use and that was at least ten times better than anything she'd seen so far.

Maybe the trip wasn't an absolute bust after all.

When the plane finally touched down in Atlanta, Andrea stayed where she was until most of the people were off the plane. She didn't want to fight against the crowd and she certainly didn't want to risk further injury to a knee that she was considering amputating herself with the first sharp object that she could find. When she felt she could move about without being bumped and battered by other people, Andrea got out of her seat and retrieved her bag.

Her head was a little light from the pain medication she'd taken—pain medication that had done relatively little for her knee but had done wonders for her mood—so she didn't rush herself getting off the plane or through the airport. She hobbled slowly along and told herself that she enjoyed the scenic tour of the airport on the way to get her bags. Before she ever reached the carousels, though, she stopped right in the middle of the walkway.

Andrea smiled to herself as she confirmed that, yes, she did know the person that was walking toward her, tugging a familiar suitcase behind her.

Andrea continued forward, hobbling at her break-neck speed of almost-turtle, and Michonne called out to her as soon as she was sure that Andrea could hear her.

"Don't rush or anything," Michonne said. "I don't want anyone to think you're happy to see me!"

"You said you weren't coming!" Andrea called back.

"I moved some things around," Michonne said. "I couldn't have you fighting for a taxi after you texted me that you fell."

"That's why I'm not rushing," Andrea explained.

Michonne's hands were full so she didn't offer Andrea any dramatic show of welcome when they reached each other. Instead, Michonne offered Andrea the cup of coffee that she was holding in her hand.

"Hot and fresh," Michonne said. "Three creams, no sugar. Just like you like it. I know you always want coffee when you're coming off a flight."

Andrea bit her lip. She was surprised that a cup of coffee and a surprise "pick up" at the airport could make her feel quite so emotional.

"Awww...Mich," Andrea declared, not able to say anything else.

From under her arm, Michonne produced another item that Andrea hadn't expected to see. It was the knee brace that she was supposed to be wearing. It was the knee brace that, theoretically, would help to stabilize her knee while it healed. Forgetful as she was, Andrea had forgotten it when she'd left for the airport and she hadn't bothered to remedy that fact during her trip to the convention. There just wasn't time for such things.

"Maybe if you'd wear this like you're supposed to," Michonne said, "then you wouldn't be walking around like a newborn calf."

Andrea took the brace and smiled at Michonne.

"You think of everything," Andrea said.

"Sit down," Michonne said, gesturing to a few tables that were nearby and belonged to "Piece of Cake". "Put it on now. We're not going anywhere until you do."

"And what are you going to do if I don't?" Andrea asked. She cocked an eyebrow at Michonne and leaned close enough to her that her voice wouldn't carry too far. "Spank me?"

Michonne laughed nervously in her throat, but she recovered quickly.

"I might," Michonne said. "When we get home. But I'd rather not because—I've already got a pretty busy night planned out for us."

"Oh?" Andrea asked.

Michonne hummed.

"An exciting night?" Andrea pressed.

Michonne hummed again, this time not trying to hide her smile. She waved Andrea toward the chairs once more and Andrea hobble the short distance over to them. When she sat and started struggling with the brace, Michonne stooped down to help her.

"So what's the exciting night?" Andrea asked. "You can't keep me in suspense."

"I thought we'd start with dinner," Michonne said. "Chinese from that place you like and—then a movie or three. I bought you a present. And I don't want to tell you what it is, but—it's pajamas. And you're going to love them."

Andrea laughed to herself.

Maybe romance, in their household, wasn't what it was in other people's worlds, but it worked for them. There was nothing either of them found more romantic than a quiet night at home together—mostly owing to the fact that they were so rare.

"I love you, Mich," Andrea said.

"I know," Michonne said. "And—ditto," she teased, always being much more discreet about things in public than Andrea was. "How does that feel?" She asked, finally getting the brace into place.

Andrea moved her knee a little, but she could already feel some relief from the compression.

She sighed and made a sound that she knew Michonne would appreciate, even if it made the blood run to Michonne's face.

"That good?" Michonne asked.

"That good," Andrea said. "And—you helping me? Down on one knee like that? It's—so _romantic._ "

Michonne laughed at her and got up, offering a hand to Andrea to help her up from the chair.

"Well, it's no glass slipper," Michonne said. "But—you're still my princess. Come on, I want to get you home before we both turn into pumpkins."


End file.
